Ghosts in the Night
by MeyRevived2
Summary: Post X1999. Love and lust can often conquer death. Lemon!
1. Incubus

**Disclaimer: **I do not own X/1999 or Tokyo Babylon.

Many thanks to my beta Kitsunia.

* * *

**Incubus**

Night lies outside the large window, its darkness reaching out eely arms to smother any lights inside the apartment one after another. It could not tolerate the lights' warmth, the hope it gives the failing human heart within.

The recovering city with its newly fixed buildings bustled with construction and resurrection at daytime but at nighttime the workers returned home, leaving the city cold and dark.

Often Subaru would stop whatever he was doing around the city and looked around, blinking with amazement.

What had become of Tokyo?

All the science fiction movies, the horror flicks, action movies, all showed massive destruction and chaos. No one bothered to show the day afterwards though.

Tokyo's proud concrete and iron Babylon became a jungle of scaffolds and huge cranes. Construction workers were its new citizens.

The army had been called to help civilians reclaim their lost property and the military one replaced civilian police. Troops were called to lend a hand in resurrecting the city. Khaki and dark green tents were erected on main street corners to form bases and watch posts for the invading force.

Burglars and bands of looters were washing through the city to try and dig precious things out of the rubble and a harsh war was opened against them by the nation they belonged to.

Staying loyal to their country in it's time of distress and need, whomever survived the year from the three yakuza families of Tokyo volunteered to help clearing out rubble and dig for buried or trapped victims of the earthquakes. The summer's last spells of heat forced them to work shirtless. The dark green of the soldier's uniforms dances side by side with the colorful dazzling tattoos on the yakuza's bodies.

The animals of the city returned to their territory in huge stampedes.

Forgotten pet cats, cats that sensed in advance that danger is about to unfold on them and took off before the earthquakes grew too strong, now returned to the wreckage of their homes to stare at it confused and frightened.

Street cats roamed their old territories to learn its new features and mark new borders, roamed across new territories to make them theirs, scurried across a demolished road to the nearest army post where leftovers of food were tossed aside by the soldiers, where they will feed and drink.

Forgotten and abandoned pet dogs clung to the army men and construction workers, even to the yakuza to grovel for attention and food. Some gathered in packs and roamed the city like wolves in a forest.

The birds that fled the city in the last days before the battle now returned, darkening the sky, hiding the sun behind their wings. They settled down on tree branches, electric wires, building edges and windowsills.

And they sang, oh how they sang, chirping and twitting until the city's new men complained about it loudly. But the birds would not stop; so happy were they that their homes were safe and sound again.

The government brought ambassadors of rich western countries to see the extent of the damage so the kind foreigners' heart might soften and their palms would open.

Fancy shiny black cars added to the city's new traffic of army jeeps, fancy pimp cars, and massive trucks driving brimful with concrete, small cranes and large stones.

Reporters flood to the city from all over the world to beam the destroyed city to the homes of anyone willing around the planet. They came, they got what they needed and they left as soon as the scoop's uniqueness subsided, like vultures backing away from a skeleton which was once a juicy carcass.

Subaru stood in the middle of the street and looked around him trying to comprehend what's going on. It seemed the world had turned upside down, became everything it shouldn't be. Wrong.

What a mess.

* * *

Subaru turned his back to the strange new city and resumed his trip back home. He was back from a Sumeragi assignment; he must rest now before he'll have to walk out again to a Sakurazukamori assignment.

These wild days found the man cold and closed like an icicle. He did not care about the endlessly working men and those who have lost their home and now gathered to the city to try and dig their life back from the rubble. Where his heart once pounded furiously for the sorrow and pain of his fellow men it was now careless and ignorant.

Life brushed past him like a powerfully blowing wind and he turned his head away from it, refusing to acknowledge it. What had he with life? With warmth and joy of others if he has none of it in his own heart? Even pain and sorrow from those around him could never compare to what he felt for almost ten years now, so why try to tune into them?

He did his jobs quietly, existing from one day to the next. Step by step, inhale and exhale, eat food and extract it. His hands grabbed white ofuda in acts of sorcery, his fingers joined together to enhance a spell, his mouth whispered or shouted commands to spirits and ghosts and the missions brushed past him under the light of day.

His right arm drew back, straight as a spear, and then lashed forward to dig through skin, muscle and bone. Hearts fluttered at the tips of his fingers before they burst in half and released blood all around his gloved palm and long shirt sleeve in the midst of the furling and unfurling darkness of the night.

Subaru was the complete Ying and Yang now; the sky glowed white on him as the sun shone black through clouds of thin rubble, crane and truck smoke adding to the cloud. The night was black as his clothes, as his inherited long fancy coat as the moon shone above him white as a barren skull.

In a sense he is whole now.

Fleeting thoughts like that, like the moment of wander and puzzlement at the sight of the strange city around him were few these days. Subaru had become a frozen drone. His heart will never skip a beat over a stimulating emotion, his mismatched eyes will never glitter suddenly at the sight of beauty, and the sight of his loved one's face. Never again.

He lay in his single bed and closed his eyes at nighttime to block it out, feeling how empty and meaningless he had become then letting go of the care about it.

Once he had been filled with the hope he will have a place in him where he'll be Subaru side by side with duty. Now he had so much duty in him and so little Subaru left.

Sleep takes him slowly, creeping up on him like the city's nighttime noises through the windows. Bats screeching, owls hooting, and dog howls in the abandoned jungle. He silenced his thought and listened to them, patiently beckoning sleep to come.

* * *

The nights were getting cold as summer's defenses against the upcoming winter cracked and turned into autumn.

Subaru took out the duvet and began using it after a short spell of the common cold made his duties absolutely intolerable.

He couldn't be bothered with wiping his nose when the tissues he'd hold soaked the blood on his hand before it got to his nose. He couldn't focus on what the latest haunted re-recruited office's staff talked about with a head as heavy as concrete hurled out from the rubble.

His duvet was light and soft as it covered him. He curled into it and clawed at it, refusing the consolation. Even his objects seemed to be like nagging happy children tugging at his sleeves with a plea to make him happy. He refused the heat and flung the duvet away from him.

Digging his face into his pillow, Subaru lay on his back barren and scattered like a cast away doll, fighting to sleep.

He couldn't. The air in his apartment was tense; a spirit was forming in his hall.

Subaru ignored it. The dangers of an angry spirit's familiars or comrades from the world of the dead coming back to haunt their friend's exorcist was not a rare thing for a Sumeragi.

Relatives of the Tree's latest victim coming to haunt him were also old news by now.

Nothing can jar him by now.

He focused on the silent night outside the window and waited for sleep to take him.

The spirit waited for sleep to take Subaru as well. It was the type to work its act only when its victim is asleep.

In the middle of the night, while Subaru floated in the meaningless void of an empty dreamscape, the spirit stepped forward.

* * *

Smooth soft wind blew across a valley of skin underneath the double mountain ridge of Subaru's ribs. Only those who hardly care for themselves enough to eat barely enough to survive carve a landscape such as this onto their bodies.

Smooth soft wind soon materializes into a thicker pocket of air, into something actual and physical. Fingers. Running across soft silky skin.

Subaru's eyelids flutter but stay closed. He turned his head sideways slightly on the stiff thin pillow worn into a shallow flap of cloth and squashed cotton after ages of use.

The fingers travel lower, past the small crater of Subaru's navel until the earth around it shook slightly. Fingers run across the sensitive skin on the edge of the pelvic bones that form a bordering mountain range to ending the valley.

Fingers curling around Subaru's boxers' waistband like cruel fishing hooks, relentless.

Then they give up. The spirit remembers it is past the time when garments are its obstacles.

Subaru moans lightly but refuses to open his eyes. Still in sleep. The noises of the city outside only pass into his dreamscape faintly; he is not in total check of his surroundings.

Something warm, turning hot, hotter. The complete Ying and Yang is way past the age when he'd get erections in the middle of the night. He has one now though. The spirit smirks and remembers there's no one here who can see it.

Subaru jerks his legs unconsciously, still floating in dream's clouds but definitely aware that something good is happening to his body.

It's not real heat though is it? It's sensation cause by something touching you minus the sensation of something actually being there to touch it. Pure pleasure without the physical aspect of what's causing it.

Lights in his vision as he sleeps draw long white lines slowly building upwards, upwards, standing like towers, hard as rock.

Subaru gasps in his sleep and arches his back. Then he whimpers when the pleasure becomes more intense, more frantic. A single spotlight traveling up and down them, up and down, up and down, faster and faster, lights the towers in his sight.

He whimpers with his mouth open until it sounds more like a vowel. He curls his legs upwards and shuts them, bony knees banging into each other.

But spirits are beyond such blocks so the spotlight in Subaru's dream shoots into frenzy, uninterrupted.

Subaru arches his back more and digs the top of his head deep into the pillow.

There are tiny gushes of wind circling his nipples, spreading the same bodiless heat as lower on the onmyouji's body.

He lets out a small cry and slumps back onto the mattress, gasping for air in his sleep.

The spirit withdraws, contemplating.

Subaru flips in the bed, rumpling the thin sheet under him. He rolls onto his back, legs splayed sideways on the bed, slightly opened. He raises his pelvis up into the air but only just a little. Still sleeping.

The spirit gushes forward like a powerful flood storming on landscape, like a leopards softly crawling towards its prey. It's on the bed.

A moment later Subaru fumbles for the duvet and plops it across himself to keep out the night's cold. Subconsciously knowing what's going on.

The spirit sniggers. Missions like vengeance will never die if they backfired on you. Heated emotions like passion will never subside even after the object of hate's death.

Still it spills onto the prone body on the bed, stroking inner thighs until they comply and open up a bit more.

With one hand clutching the duvet, Subaru reaches the other to his mouth to stifle an upcoming moan. A moan of relief.

The black dreamscape is penetrated by pain and heat until its owners gasp and lets a tiny scream end it. He whimpers again, as the lines of light are now horizontal, shooting towards him then withdrawing backwards.

And there are tiny stars of light in his sleep too, twinkling here and there, whenever the pulsing white path moves by them. They are inverted and searing, he knows they're bleeding, but twinkling nonetheless.

Subaru's pillow dampens from tears and saliva, above it lays a powerfully moaning onmyouji though in the realm of the physical there's nothing there to make him do that.

He lies unmoving on the mattress and lets the spirit run its business on him. Eons age he'd move a little to draw a monster deeper into him until it was no longer a monster but a man, then a blur, then something Subaru was far too occupied to analyze anymore.

He is gasping between moans and whimpers before every gasp. Light fills his dreamscape. Bright white and pure, yet deadly, chasing away colors and forms until there's nothing but blank white.

There once was a man who did that a lot; turned something good into something horrible.

Nothing was more horrible then the loneliness and emptiness of Subaru's current life so the light wasn't all that bad now.

Subaru bites into his fingers until they bleed.

The spirit almost reveals itself for now it is a swirling mass of tiny particles like dust in a beam of light. It let its guard down because there's no one to watch it here. Also because it cannot control its body anymore right now.

Wind rages across the room in circles, making the curtains rustle. They dance for a while like huge black sea slugs. Then subside.

It ended.

The curtains calm and hang down flabbily.

The spirit fades away, exhausted. This is all it can do.

Subaru's gasping still as he fights to calm his breathe. At the taste of blood he opens his eyes and removes his fist from his mouth.

Coldly he observes his bloody digits until it sinks in that he is in bed and that he clearly remembers taking a shower after tonight's job.

He moves to get up and bandage his fingers when he registers the wet stickiness between his boxers and his body. He looks down on himself and the mattress, baffled.

He is slightly sore and sticky, sweat dripping down his body though it is very cold outside. Perhaps he curled himself too much into the duvet.

For now he chooses to ignore the stickiness in his groin.

Subaru pads down to the bathroom and washes his fingers. With a bit of cotton wool he dabs a thick antiseptic liquid onto the tiny holes forming an arch on his forefinger and middle finger's sides.

As he slowly spins the long thin gauze around his fingers the notion dawns on him like setting fog.

He stares at himself in the mirror. His eyes are big and swollen, floating on pale skin between his delicate eyebrows and the slowly darkening bags at the bottom. They are not as hollow as they are every time he catches a brief glance of them while shaving or cleaning his teeth; there's a teeny tiny glint in them now.

"S…ei…shi…ro…-san"

(end)


	2. Succubus

**Disclaimer: **I do not own X/1999 or Tokyo Babylon.

**Author's Thanks: ** To Angelike Riddle from (Thank you! Gosh, I never had anything of mine rated 'poetic' . ), LadyoftheBlackWings from (Eerie as it should be, thank you!), Kakyou-chan from (Thank you! I don't know if Subaru didn't really figure it out. I think he thinks he beat himself off during a particularly hot dream or something), to AVARICE from to the Anon. reviewer from Clampesque (I'm sorry but this fic is meant to make people cry, it's bittersweet that way), to Whitesakura my precioussss(s) who commented on my Lj (Thank you darling, this one isn't S/S but I still hope you'll like it), to Menthee from the SeixSub community (Thank you and for that beta-ing correction!) and to Anavi from the SeixSub community (I have an experience with ghost sex writing from my Randall & Hopkirk days so yeah, it can be hot!)

And many, many thanks to my beta, Cait.

**Author's Notes: **Y'all should go and listen to some Beatles, satisfaction guaranteed! Also, I'm in love with my new Windows Professional 2003 Office translator –glomps-.

* * *

**Succubus **

Fire burnt in Kamui since his life began, since he could remember himself.

The fire of life, of love, of kicking and screaming and begging to go out and play with the Monou's.

When he moved out to Okinawa the fire stared at the new city and blinked. What the hell! Where's Fuma! Where's Kotori! Where's aunty Saya, Uncle Kyogo!

With a bitter farewell's pain the fire twisted, fed into a new mutated and powerful heat by the alienation of the new kids around Kamui. The fire became that of a raging wounded animal fighting off its attackers.

Kamui fought and kicked and screamed and used his newly found powers so much he got into enough trouble to ground him for a year. Which actually happened.

Tohru was very ashamed of her son's behavior. She loved him still and she _knew_ him so she knew the source of his pain; which made her happy. Kamui's ongoing pain meant that he still remembered the Monou's and remembering them meant they were special to him. If he has a special person, then he is bound to follow the path she wished for him.

So Tohru did nothing to quench the fire within her son; she only punished him when the fire licked at the wrong person.

Six years later and the fire's in Tokyo. New pains feeding it into a roaring, bloating, exploding, snarling flame.

At the peak of 1999 the fire was quenched forever. A sword through the heart, and the boy who burnt was dead.

* * *

Floating up heavenwards, Kamui looked down at the person he suffered and fought for all his life, and realized what was about to happen to him.

Fuma was himself again, holding his palm to his chest, his eyes adrift, his lips mouthing Kamui's last words.

The heart of a young boy broke like a glass earth. A scream shook the heavens before the boy reached them.

Kamui took a single look at the pearly gates and shook his head. With eyes brimful of tears he refused heavenly tranquility. He said "No!" to the only chance he'll ever get for blissful peace; of sleep and rest for his tormented soul.

Fuma holding a hand to his chest.

Fuma repeating what he said, thinking about it.

Fuma, all alone in this world so cruel and lonely to him.

Who does Fuma have now?

Who will wait for him at home with a hot dinner as he returns from a basketball game? Who will take his jacket off and hand him his slippers? Who will sit him down to a cup of tea while the soup is reheating?

Who will ask him, "How was your day darling? How was school? How was work? Are you tired" Who will give him a foot massage or a shoulder rub as the dishes soak up soapy water in the sink?

Who will slip Fuma's shirt off with a seductive look? Who will stick his tongue out playfully as he drags Fuma down the corridors to their bedroom? Who will make sweet passionate love to Fuma on the end of a hard day's work?

Who will lie down under Fuma's panting sweaty body and treasure the afterglow? Who will ignore Fuma's heavy body and cherish the feel of naked flesh on naked flesh? Who will hold Fuma tightly in his sleep and beg him, "Please don't go away again, never again, please stay with me Fuma….ple-he-he-se?"

Fuck all this destiny crap! Kamui's fifteen, goddamnit. He turned sixteen this fucking year and what did he ever do to live up to it!

Not even one kiss! A kiss, that's all he asked. He had his chance but he blew it; the Dragon reared his ugly head, it wasn't Fuma he would be kissing. After that it was far too late.

He turned his back as Heaven's arms reached out to him. "Come to us," they begged, "Join us, you've earned your rest," but Kamui shook them off and fell down; fell to his Fuma.

_Even if you are reviled and hated for it?_

"Yes."

_Even if your life becomes a hell?_

"Yeah."

_Even if no one understands the path you've taken, or respects your heart's true wish…?_

"….Yeah."

It is time to create the future _he_ wants.

Saya was dead. Mother was dead.

Kyogo was dead; Kotori too.

Even Tokiko was dead.

Who is left behind for Fuma?

Smiling happily, Kamui descended until he was able to see it clearly; the light in a remote suburban shrine. A light at the Monou estate. A light in Fuma's window.

"Fuma! I'm here! I'm here! See me! Fuma, I'm back, I'm not dead, Fuma!"

But Fuma cannot hear him; Fuma is snoozing.

He is sitting in his abandoned home's living room; his homework fanned out before him on the short stubby living room table.

His arms are folded on the study books and notebooks, a pen sticking out from under his elbow like the crushed body of an earthquake's victim.

His head is laid sideways on his left arm, his eyes are closed. His breathing is slow and steady, he is asleep.

Clamp Campus' ridiculous logo beams, "Sweet dreams Fuma!" at the youth who has collapsed on the English book bearing the tactless blowfish.

The notebook under his face is damp and the kanji are blurred as harsh ink gives in to uncontrolled emotions.

Kamui lands on the smooth wooden floor and floats to Fuma's side. No one welcomed Fuma after a school's day, no one made him a hot meal, no one asked him how he was and rubbed his shoulders.

Kamui wraps ghastly thin arms around broad real shoulders; placing pale tiny scarred palms atop large broad tanned ones and closes his eyes.

Ghosts can't sleep; they can never rest. They can only dissolve and materialize again.

For now Kamui stays with Fuma. He will wait for the young man to wake up into the warmest surprise he ever had, into a loving embrace.

Kamui has yet to fully understand what he has become.

* * *

Fuma wakes up. He blinks away the last cobwebs of a sleep too short to sate insomnia's drawbacks. He stares around him at the large vacant hall. Loneliness gapes at him, exposing sharp fangs about to eat his soul away.

Once upon a time Kyogo ordered the common rooms of this house to be made big; he had hoped to have more children than just Fuma and Kotori. Then he insisted the rooms weren't too big for only two children; there's room to run rampant and play in, to have large family dinners with the Shiro's, to throw a birthday party with Kotori and Fuma's classmates.

Now the empty large house serves nothing but to remind Fuma of all that happiness and domestic bliss gone forever. Great, thanks a lot, dad!

Fuma drags himself to his feet and stumbles over to the kitchen, legs heavy and uncooperative. Swooping through the kitchen he makes himself half a dinner, pours himself a soft drink he allowed himself to buy since no one's here to sulk at how he's going to ruin his teeth and health with all that excess sugar and caffeine.

He plops down to a kitchen chair and eats his meal slowly. He thinks of his homework and frowns; a problem in math is slowly taking shape in his mind's eye. The problem is solved, followed by the next and the next.

Then there's nothing anymore and Fuma's left alone with the void.

He thinks of his history homework and tries to remember the march of a band of samurai against the emperor of the time. He fails and the void leaks into his mind again.

His meal is over; he pushes the plate away from him.

It's a bad habit really, pushing his finished plate away. Once upon a time it was Kotori or mother who would take that as a hint to clear the plate from the table and bring in the next course.

Now it's only him who's left here, but the habit lingers on like a stubborn child.

Fuma cannot get up. His body is heavy and weary, his head swirls inside. Tears break out like a wild tide, pouring down his cheeks and onto the table underneath him with no control.

He places his elbow on the table and his palm on his face and bursts into violent sobs.

The ghost of Kamui stares at him from his stand in the living room. His own heart is broken; he is crying too.

Since the moment Fuma opened his eyes Kamui was screaming at him that "I'm here! Fuma, I'm home! I'm alive! I'm alright! We're together again!" but Fuma couldn't hear him.

A sword through the heart is just not something you can live through, Kamui realized, and now Fuma really has no one in the world to be there for him.

Kamui nearly dissolves into the crushing depression settling down on him. Soon he will become one of the types of ghosts who roam the world without a shape, a face or a name, gaping and wailing as they spook people with their ungraspable grief.

Fuma leaves for the bathroom and passes right through Kamui's astral body. Spinning on his invisible heels, Kamui follows his loved one with his eyes.

He follows Fuma to the bathroom, where he watches the man urinate. Being a ghost and invisible has its bright sides, as Kamui walks right up to Fuma and stares down at the limb held out above the toilet seat.

Kamui never saw this side of Fuma (not the urinating side, the not-covered-in-clothes side), not even when they were children. He feels heat rising in his cheeks and places his palms there; it's really hot!

Fuma has left the toilet by now. Kamui is left behind to ponder as the lavatory cistern fills itself with merry tunes of fulfillment.

Kamui smiles, feeling his chest now. The fire is back; the fire of passion, of love and devotion.

He vowed to protect Fuma forever, even after 1999. Well Fuma's in danger now isn't he? Sadness and loneliness hangs over Fuma's head, swinging down on him like an Edgar Allen Poe pendulum. Who will keep him from caving into anguish's grabbing arms if not his Kamui?

Waiting patiently, Kamui follows Fuma around his home as he folds up his school papers and prepares for sleep.

* * *

Fuma sleeps again. He is sprawled out on his bed as if he landed there from a long fall. His legs are cast each to their own sides, his right arms is placed away from his body dangling down from the wrist, palm up, above the floor beyond the beds edge.

The left arm is laid on Fuma's face, covering his eyes. His palm long ago stopped wiping away the tears which lulled him down to sleep.

His broad muscular chest rises up and down in a steady rhythm of slumber, the belly beyond it faintly moving.

Once this torso bore muscles hard as stone and strong as iron. Now basketball is beyond Fuma's interests; his limbs grow too weak to carry his burden of mourn, so he plays no more. A layer of fat slowly covers muscles once taut and all-powerful.

Kamui kneels at the edge of the bed within the arch Fuma's feet drew between them. He looks down at his Fuma and smiles. His Fuma and his alone, no one else's. Death twisted the fire into a new type of heat and the fire twisted the ghastly body into a new shape; new abilities.

A tiny scarred palm reaches out and caresses Fuma's bare chest. Past a short forest of scattered curly hairs, past a long line of denser curls defining the middle of Fuma's torso, deep into the thick forest at the man's crotch.

Fuma twitches and moans in his sleep. It is not a moan of pleasure. It's a moan of impatience; of suppressed anger. He knows his body's needs now by heart and the time when they arise. He is restless and angry, impatient at his member's annoying tactless demands.

Kamui arches his eyebrows and shrugs; Fuma's misunderstanding it all but what the heck? He is hardening and that's what Kamui cares about. The joy of watching the man he loves rise at his presence; registering his existence and attention.

Kamui bends down and runs the tip of his tongue on the tip of Fuma. Just a small lick to make Fuma twitch again.

Fuma dreams of Kamui and his eyes flutter open. The arm, still on his face, obscures Kamui from Fuma's new state of consciousness.

Sniggering sweetly, Kamui crawls closer to Fuma; his shoulder blades dancing up and down in a distinct feline motion.

He buries his face in Fuma's abdomen, rubbing his cheeks against tense skin and the forest's edge. He hums to himself and casts his body onto Fuma's, arms splayed forward to arch up and circle Fuma's sleeping head. He joins fingers above the middle of Fuma's head and looks down at the half hidden face.

Kamui bows his head and kisses Fuma deeply, breathing in the scent of masculine musk and sheets slept in for many nights. He inhales Fuma's aftershave and the smell of his freshly shaved face, savoring the excited tingles across his body and the joy of his lover's obvious masculinity. He laps at the lips and digs his astral tongue into the mouth.

The mouth is opening and a flesh-made tongue laps back into his mouth, twisting erotically. Long, powerful arms encircle a space too big to contain Kamui's real body within it. It does contain Kamui, along with too much empty air, so Kamui's satisfied.

Contact has been made and Fuma is not alone anymore.

Soft crimson eyes open up and look at Kamui's forehead. They think they're looking into Kamui's eyes but they're mistaken. Never mind, it's the thought that counts.

Kamui digs into the hot mouth again, needy and burning now, thirsty for more from his man.

Heat pours all over his mouth, circling his tongue, drawing lines on his lips and lapping at his bottom lip. Fuma wraps his arms tighter as patterns of heat on his body makes the presence in his room's identity clear. He kisses deeper, better, thirsty for the boy as well.

Restless, Kamui snaps his body up. He saddles Fuma, running frantic invisible palms all across the chest he so longed to explore.

Fondling up air like a blind man, Fuma finds the thighs he wanted to grab and squeeze with passion from the beginning of this damned year. Hot thick air makes it obvious to him where Kamui is, his palms run along the body they drove a sword through not three months ago.

The ghost is hungry. The ghost is thirsty, lustful and impatient. It leans forward and bites down on Fuma's left nipple, sucking powerfully as much as a ghost of his status can.

His lover hisses and grabs at hot air behinds, grinding the fire onto his swollen crotch.

The ghost moans a throaty "Oahhh" and bites down again. This time he rocks his body along the burning flesh shaft, he builds a frantic rhythm sure to have sent his flesh body's thighs into a good few day's cramp.

Kamui's flesh body is lying under Kotori's tree, under a tombstone now and slowly rots away. For now, Kamui will ride his lover as much as the both of them can keep up the activity.

Fuma's palm rises, searching to the heat again. Up, up, up, index and middle finger prodding the air looking for something to penetrate, somewhere to stay.

The ghost wraps its mouth around the fingers and sucks, savoring the sound of the pleased, "Mmm," below him. He does not drop the fingers as he moans, grabbing his invisible manhood and rubbing it against Fuma's hardness.

Fuma's other palm shoots to his body to snatch himself from the hot thick tendril wrapping him. He holds himself upright, bucking his hips in heavenwards thrusts.

Refusing to let go of the fingers in his unearthly mouth, Kamui abides his loved one's wishes and inserts the pulsing member into himself.

Ah, but he did it too quickly, too rashly, without thought or consideration to himself. He wanted that amazing moment of penetration to be slower, more flowing, more _meaningful_. Instead, he simply slammed the other man into himself and drew in as deep as the other man could. Foolish.

To compensate this mistake Kamui moves up and down slowly. _Very_ slowly. Studying every millimeter of manhood, every curve and every juncture of arteries and veins until he would be able to draw them with his finger in the air, the soft and sensitive line defining the head from the shaft. With his tongue he studies the grooves of Fuma's fingerprints.

This is what the ancient men who wrote the western bible meant when they called making love, 'knowing'.

Fuma grabs hot air thighs and digs himself deep into that fiery heat around him, stabbing powerfully into ghastly flesh.

The ghost bites into the fingers and immediately licks them better, sucking into them as if they were the member within him. He gives in and speeds up his moves.

But Fuma's in control now, Fuma's chasing down what good manners and six years of solitude deprived him of, what the Dragon tried to claim his own. No one will stop him from going at it in the rhythm he dictates, the moves he controls; he won't allow it!

Ah, giving in to your man, giving your man what he needs, serving your man's every need. Let your man thrust deep into you as fast and hard as he wishes, give into him as much as you can, give him everything. Kamui bursts into maddened laughter, his body bouncing up and down frantically.

Fuma draws deep husky breaths, hitching up whenever a new peak of pleasure is scaled. He reaches up to grasp the hot thin waist, pushing it down with every thrust of his.

He claws at the heat-made body and thrusts harder. At first he is only mouthing it, with lips wet and dripping, then he sounds the name of his loved on and the ghost above him, "Kamui, Kamui, KamuiKamuiKamuiKamuiKamuiKamui, oh **_Kamui_**!"

Scorching tendrils scald Fuma's chest, burning eight crescents into Fuma's flesh, two inverted crescents burn down a little lower on the bare skin. Fire licks at the sweat-soaked sheets in two lines at the sides of Fuma's hips.

The fingers slip out of the ghost's mouth as he arches his back backwards and bounces his body again in one last dance into the purest heat, into the brightest light. He fulfilled another secret deep wish.

The ghost melts onto the man on the bed, his astral body exhausted and powerless. It is over.

Suddenly in panic, Fuma leaps to sit up on his bed, searching the air around him with frantic blind hands. He blinks around his dark room; the air around him cool and calm again.

Empty is the room around him. Empty and lonely.

"Kamui?...Kamui where are you?...K-Kamui?" the only heat he feels now are the lines his tears draw on his cheeks.

"Where are you?...Kamui……I miss you……Kamui?"

No more.

It is time for the soul of a boy, so long tortured and punished for sins not his, to come home to the light and bliss of heaven.

One last, "No," he says as he faces the angels. "No, I wish not to stay up here, here is for those who have nothing to linger on for. I still have something to do."

So, they send him back down to the land of the living in a new shape with a new name.

Along with him comes the fire, to remind his soul of what it's off to achieve, why it refused the eternal rest.

Maybe this time he will do good; maybe this time he'll live it up to the fullest.

This time he'll find his way to his Fuma and be more than just a one night lump of heat and astral projection.

So Fuma won't be alone anymore; so Fuma will be happy and laughing again.

To be with Fuma; his Fuma.

(end)


End file.
